


Compromised

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7464213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bellarke congressional AU that was just supposed to be a fluffy and smutty drabble that spun entirely out of control instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (contains a debate on access to abortion, just fyi.)

“Congressman Blake’s on the line,” Harper said, sticking her head into Clarke’s office.  “Says he wants to finish up your conversation from Appropriations, but you’ve got that meeting with Senator DuBois in ten.  Should I tell him to go fuck himself?”

Clarke laughed and then pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut.  “Maybe not the best idea.  Just tell him I’ll stop by his office later.  And can you have someone pick up my dress for the fundraiser tonight?  I meant to grab it last night, but they were closed by the time I left the office.”

“You know, I could have a cot brought in here for you,” Harper teased as Clarke started to pack up her briefcase.  “So you could just sleep here and skip having to pay rent on that place you pretend you live in while we’re in session.”

“Honestly, it’s not the worst idea,” Clarke chuckled.  “Is there anything else on my schedule?”

“Just the meeting with Indra and the fundraiser.   I’ll have an intern go pick up your dress and the car will be outside at seven.”

“I couldn’t do this without you, you know,” Clarke said and wound her way through their packed office.  Three different interns were working in a space the size of a dollhouse, and her communications staff was squeezed into what could only charitably be called a closet.

“You could, you’d just be late to everything,” Harper countered, and with a wave Clarke left the office.  Her heels clicked against the tile floor and she smiled politely at the staffers she passed, already rehearsing her pitch for Indra.  She took a left and headed for the elevators and honestly, it was like he had her chipped or something, because Bellamy stepped out of his office just as she walked past.  

“I have a meeting with Indra,” she said and he fell into step beside her.

“So your chief of staff tells me.  But Indra’s office is on the other side of the Hill, and I happen to know you’re perfectly capable of talking and walking at the same time.”  He grinned at her, that dark grin that was half-smirk and half genuine.  She fully understood why staffers consistently rated him the hottest man on the Hill, even if he had a tendency to aggravate the shit out of her.

Clarke hit the elevator button and sighed.  “It’s a good compromise,” she tried, even though she knew what his response would be.

“No, it isn’t.  It doesn’t do anything to make abortion more accessible, and—”

“-- but it doesn’t do anything to limit it either.  Look, sometimes the best we can do is just minimize the damage,” she said, stepping aside to let the Alaskan congressman exit the elevator.  Roan smiled at Clarke and Bellamy scowled before following her in.  She hit the button for the lobby and peeled off her blazer because wearing it outside was a recipe for overheating until she looked like a tomato.  Five years in DC and she still loathed the constant vacillation between icy air conditioning and oppressive swamp heat.

Bellamy’s eyes darted towards her now-bare shoulders for half a second.  “That’s easy for you to say.  Your constituents can afford to travel and take time off if clinics close. Mine—”

“Yours are disproportionately affected by restrictions, I know.  We’re on the same side here, okay?  But as long as Cage chairs Appropriations, the best we can hope for are bills that don’t make things worse.”

Bellamy arched an eyebrow at her.  “You're really okay with that?”

She huffed out a sigh.  “Yes and no.  Look, I’ve been at this longer than you, and I know you thought that you really could change things here.  And maybe you can, but this is how the sausage is made.  It’s not pretty, but if we compromise on this now, we can push them to compromise on something bigger later.”

Bellamy’s face darkened, but she held up her hand to stop what was sure to be an angry tirade.  “I promise, I’ll stop by your office after I meet with Indra.  We can finish this then.”

Bellamy sucked his teeth in annoyance and nodded.  “I’ll eagerly await your arrival, princess,” he snarked, and with one last eye roll Clarke waved goodbye.

 

* * *

 

 

She had fully intended to go straight from Indra’s office to Bellamy’s, but Harper called as she was leaving the Senate offices to let her know that Cage wanted a meeting.  That was a solid hour of unmitigated unpleasantness as Clarke had to explain that yes, those were the exact words they had agreed to, and no, she wasn’t open to “tweaking” the language so the ban would cover hospitals that received federal funds instead of just stand-alone clinics.

By the time Cage let her escape she barely had enough time to race back to her office and zip herself into the slinky black dress Harper had made Fox pick up from the dry cleaners.  She called Harper from her office bathroom, blinking into her mascara wand.  “I need you to cancel the car. I just got back from Cage’s office and I still have to stop by Bellamy’s, so I’ll just catch a ride with him.”

“That sounds like the worst fucking idea you’ve ever had,” Harper deadpanned.  “I seem to remember you two shouting at each other in the halls about three fucking lines in a tax bill.  What will you do if you're trapped in a car together?  What if there's a motorcade?  I don't have bail money if you murder him, which I distinctly remember you threatening to do."

“That was like, four months ago,” Clarke protested.  “We haven’t shouted at each other in at least six weeks.”

“In public,” Harper corrected.  “Because it was three weeks ago that he barged into your office yelling about the need to protect unions.”

“Whatever, I can handle him.  It’ll be fine, I promise.”  Clarke scanned herself in the mirror and decided that she looked about as put together as she could on such a tight timeline.  She swapped out her briefcase for a silver clutch and pinned the phone between her shoulder and ear as she locked the office door.  “And Indra’s going to get us a meeting with Kane on the labor bill tomorrow, so we might need to move some stuff around.”   The hallways were nearly dead as she headed for Bellamy’s office.  Half of the representatives were probably already at the fundraiser and the other half had left for the weekend, leaving the halls desolate.

“Got it.  I’ll make sure you have space in your schedule.  You sure about the car?”

“Positive,” Clarke said.  Up ahead, a slice of light from Bellamy’s office illuminated the floor.  The outer office was empty and the door to his main office was ajar, his staffers long gone for the evening.

She didn’t bother knocking.  “So let me explain the concept of compromising to you,” she said, and Bellamy looked up from his computer.  He was already in his tux for the fundraiser but his tie was undone and askew, his hair studiously rumpled.  “We give a little bit— not much, because with the stupid fucking Hyde Amendment it’s not like stand-alone clinics can get money from the federal government anyway— and let Cage score points with his base back home, because he looks like he’s taking a strong pro-life stance instead of just reaffirming what the law already says.  And in turn he gives us get thirty million for domestic violence shelters, which will do actual, real good for women and they won’t have given up anything they didn’t already lose forty years ago when Hyde was passed.”

Bellamy stood and cocked his head.  “Except by conceding on this point, you’re reaffirming the belief that federal money shouldn’t be used to provide a life-saving, legally protected right.”  He walked towards her, the only light coming from a small lamp on his desk.  Even still, his eyes glinted.

“It’s not perfect, I know, but—”

“Shut up,” he growled, and then he was kissing her, his mouth hot and welcoming.  Bellamy pressed her against the door until it closed and she curled her hands in his hair, scraping her nails against his scalp.  She grinned against his mouth and he caged her with his arms, his tongue sliding slowly against hers.

“You’re giving me a ride to the fundraiser,” she gasped when he dragged his mouth down to her pulse point.  “And I almost gave us away to Harper.”

“I don’t give a damn if your staff knows,” Bellamy mumbled, his teeth nipping gently at her skin.  He nosed the delicate strap of her dress off and kissed her shoulder tenderly.

Clarke tugged his mouth up to hers and kissed him hard, because that was what they were; fierce and harsh, not gentle and sweet.  When he did things like that— things that made her feel treasured in a way she hadn’t in a long fucking time— her heart threatened to get involved and she couldn’t afford that.

Bellamy’s hand found the slit of her dress and skated up her thigh, nudging her tiny lace panties aside.  “Fuck,” he groaned when he found her wet already, and sank his finger deep inside her.  Clarke bit her lip and arched her neck, her hands fumbling with his belt.

“Now,” she begged when she’d shoved his pants and boxer briefs down around his hips.  “Please, now.”

“So demanding,” Bellamy teased, his finger curling inside of her just right.

“Whatever, you love it,” she gasped, losing the carelessly affected tone she was going for when his thumb tapped her clit and she moaned.  And then he was pushing her dress up around her waist and lifting her into his arms.  Clarke grasped his shoulders for leverage as he lowered her onto his cock and let him pin her to the door with his weight.  Bellamy started moving, thrusting in and out in a rhythm that had her seeing stars.  She buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent and tasting the salt of his sweat.  She could feel every inch of him, pushing in and sliding out, his breath hot against her skin.  His fingers dug into the underside of her thighs and she shifted just slightly so he hit her clit with every thrust.  

That was all it took.  He kissed the soft skin under her jaw and she came undone, shuddering apart in his arms.  Her walls were still fluttering when he swelled inside of her and his movements lost their easy grace.  He whispered her name as he spilled his come inside her, and Clarke let herself revel in their closeness while he placed a delicate kiss to her collarbone.  If you’d told Clarke three months ago that she would trust Bellamy Blake— the man who had been a thorn in her side since the day he was elected— enough to fuck him without a condom she would have laughed in your face.

But here she was, no barrier between them and still wishing she could somehow be closer  even though that—  _ feelings _ — were definitely not part of their deal.  What had started as just an angry fuck borne out of months of sexual frustration and Bellamy’s tendency to get under her skin had somehow morphed into something that wasn’t quite friendship but wasn’t quite just sex either, and she had no idea how to handle it.  “My car should be here soon,” he breathed, and Clarke unwound her limbs and let him set her down.  

She ducked into his bathroom to straighten herself out and reapply her lipstick and when she emerged he had tucked his shirt back in but was struggling with his tie.  “Here, let me,” she said, and Bellamy dropped the strip of fabric.  She could feel heat radiating from his chest and suddenly her fingers didn’t work quite right.  It took her two more tries before it was knotted properly, and she straightened it unnecessarily before stepping away.  “There,” she said quietly, brushing away a non-existent piece of lint.

Bellamy’s hand came up to cup her jaw and she froze because they didn’t do this— they didn’t touch each other when they weren’t fucking.  Not like this.  His thumb skimmed across her cheekbone and he gave her a half-smile.  No smirk this time, no dangerous gleam to his eyes;  in fact, it was almost sad.  The seconds ticked past and Bellamy was still looking at her with that soft, rueful look, his hand warm and gentle against her skin.  It threw her off balance, so she stepped back, straightened her shoulders and did what she did best: pretend.

“We should get going,” she said briskly, hiding her face as she looked for her purse.  “The party will kill me if I keep you from a fundraiser.”

“And what’s our cover?” he asked, following her out of his office.  “I mean, we’re not exactly known as carpool buddies.”

Clarke shrugged and pressed the button for the elevator.  The doors slid open with a soft  _ ding _ that echoed oddly in the empty building.  “We were fine-tuning the language the committee agreed on today.  Which, I know you hate it, but—”

Bellamy held up his hand.  “I know,” he said, sounding resigned.  “Can we just leave it for now?”

“Okay,” she said, puzzled. It wasn’t like Bellamy to not take her bait, but he stayed silent. The elevator sunk down and the doors opened, the brightly lit lobby still bustling with security in stark contrast to the deserted upper floors.  

Roan approached the elevator, still in the suit he’d been wearing earlier.  “Not going to the fundraiser?” Clarke asked as he let them by.

“Not in the mood for mother dearest, more like,” he replied.  “But you look great, Griffin.  You almost make Blake look presentable.”

Bellamy glared at Roan again and Clarke had the sudden urge to lay her hand on Bellamy’s arm, but she curled her hand into a fist instead.  “See you later,” she told Roan and turned towards the door.

Bellamy didn’t speak again until he opened the car door for her.  “You do, you know.”

“I do what?” she asked, too preoccupied with wrangling her skirt to look at him.

“You look good.  Great, I mean.”  She looked over to him and there it was again: that sad, wistful look that made her heart twist into an uncomfortable shape.

Clarke smiled, hesitant and tremulous, her heart pounding for no reason at all.  “You do too,” she said softly, and his answering smile was too much.  She had to look away, smoothing the black fabric against her thighs.  “We’re going to be late,” she reminded him, and Bellamy signaled to the driver.

His hand found hers three blocks later. 

She didn’t let go until they arrived.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“I hear you’re working with Senator DuBois on a gun control bill,” the middle-aged man standing in front of her said.

Clarke nodded vaguely, her eyes on the way Bellamy was chatting animatedly with Governor Glazer’s chief of staff.  “I’m sorry, what was that?” she said, realizing he was waiting on an answer that she didn’t have.  She tore her eyes away from the way Echo’s hand rested on Bellamy’s forearm and fixed her gaze back on...whoever this man was.  A lobbyist, she was pretty sure.  Normally she was way more on the ball than this, but tonight was anything but normal.

“I said, you’re not worried about blowback from the NRA?”

“Not particularly,” Clarke said, watching Bellamy laugh at something Echo said out of the corner of her eye.  He’d walked into the fundraiser with a respectable distance between them and peeled off from her almost immediately, but her palm still tingled, the memory of his warm hand clasping hers fresh in her memory.  She forced herself to let it go and flashed a smile at the lobbyist.  “My district is generally pretty pro-gun control, and we’re just going to try and open up funding avenues for research into gun deaths.  I can take any heat they want to send my way for that.”  Clarke raised her champagne glass to her lips and found it empty.  “I’m very sorry, but I see a constituent over there and I really should go say hello,” Clarke lied and made a beeline for the opposite side of the ballroom.  She found a waiter and swapped out her glass for a full flute, grateful that a crowd of people now stood between her and Bellamy.

It wasn’t like they had any sort of verbal agreement.  In fact, they never talked about what they were— they just existed, sometimes as enemies and sometimes as allies and sometimes as nothing more than the incarnation of their ids, kissing and clawing at each other until there was nothing but skin between them.  That was all they were, and holding hands for a five minute drive didn’t change that.

* * *

_ “We’re not dropping it, and that’s final,” Bellamy said flatly.  “Without funding the regulations will have no teeth.” _

_ “I’m not saying drop it, I’m saying—” _

_ “I know what you’re saying, I’m just saying we’re not doing it.” _

_ Clarke sighed and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes.  “Do you enjoy torturing me, or is that just a pleasant side effect of all of this for you?” she grumbled. _

_ Bellamy flashed her a cocky grin.  “Just a happy coincidence.” _

_ Clarke had a retort on the tip of her tongue but Harper stuck her head in.  “Sorry to interrupt, but I sent out that press release.  Need anything else?” _

_ “Nah, we’ve got it here.  Go home and feed your cat.” _

_ “The last thing Fatso needs is more food,” Harper replied.  She flickered her eyes over towards Bellamy.  His nose was buried in a stack of memos, one ankle resting on his knee.  “You’re sure you’re covered?” Harper asked with just a touch of concern.  It wasn't without cause, considering the number of times Clarke and Bellamy had shouted at each other in this very office.  But Clarke didn't need a babysitter.  She was more than capable of handling him all on her own. _

_ “Definitely.  See you tomorrow,” Clarke said, and Harper left, leaving her door cracked open. _

_ “Could we table section seventeen for now?” Clarke asked, and Bellamy gave a distracted nod.  She reached for the stack of research Harper had brought in an hour ago.  “I was thinking we could suggest a rider that stipulates employees have the right to sue for discrimination so long as they file within three months of termination.” _

_ “It should be a year,” Bellamy said without looking up. _

_ “That’ll never get through and will sink the whole bill.” _

_ “Then maybe we should sink it.” _

_ “You want me to blow up something I’ve been working on for three years?” _

_ “If it’s that or have a bill that won’t actually change anything, yeah. Blow it up.” _

_ “You’re never going to get anywhere if you insist on all or nothing,” Clarke snapped.  They’d been having the same fight, more or less, for the past hour— not to mention most of the past year.  She suggested an incremental approach and he shot it down, completely ignoring her years of experience in Washington in favor of his rash, idealistic dreams. _

_ “And you’re never going to get anywhere if you keep folding like a house of cards at the slightest resistance.”  He smirked and Clarke had to fight with her own lips to keep them from curving up. _

_ She managed to get control of her smile and rolled her eyes. “I swear to god, sometimes I don’t know if I should fuck you or kill you.” _

_ “If it’s all the same to you I’d prefer the former,” he threw back without hesitation. _

_ “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” _

_ “Actually, I think you’d enjoy it too.” _

_ It took a second for the beat to land and then his eyes widened slightly.  Clarke’s did too, because...did they just say that?  To each other?  It had been a long, frustrating dry spell for her and here he was, handsome in an aggravating sort of way, and they were alone.  And now he was looking at her with what could only be described as undisguised hunger.  The air between them suddenly seemed heavy with promise and Clarke’s mouth went dry. _

_ Clarke stood and walked slowly and deliberately to the door.  She closed it the last few inches and flipped the lock, Bellamy’s gaze burning a hole in her back.  He watched her return to her desk and bend over to rifle through her purse. _

_ She found the condom at the bottom, a testimony to her optimism that between her insane hours and the public face of propriety she had to present to the world she would somehow meet someone to have sex with, despite all the evidence to the contrary.  Until this very moment that had seemed an absurd proposition, and even now she wasn’t quite sure this was happening.  She half expected to wake up in her spartan apartment in Georgetown, reaching for her vibrator to finish herself off. _

_ Clarke laid the condom on the corner of her desk in full view of Bellamy.  His eyes dropped to it and he licked his lips. She moved toward him, hands at her sides, and waited.  Bellamy reached out and touched her hand with the back of his finger, running it down from her wrist to her fingertip.  Then his eyes flickered up to hers and he wove their fingers together, tugging her forward. Clarke swung her leg over him and lowered herself down, her eyes never leaving his.  “You sure?” she whispered. _

_ “Yeah,” he whispered back. _

_ Bellamy’s hands came to rest on her waist, steadying her, and she wrapped her hand around his tie. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and his eyes darkened.  She pulled the tie gently, her thumb and forefinger grasping the knot, and watched his eyes flutter closed.   _

_ Their first kiss was surprisingly delicate.  She brushed her lips against his and Bellamy sighed, tilting his head to the side to deepen the kiss.  Clarke took the lead, sliding her tongue alongside his and cupping his jaw with her hand.  Stubble rasped against her palm and she rocked her hips against him.  She could feel him growing harder through the barrier of fabric between them, and when she nipped at his lower lip he growled and dug his fingertips into her thighs. _

_ They explored each other leisurely at first, lips trailing over skin and hands tangling into hair.  But Clarke kept rocking her hips, back and forth, getting wetter with each stroke, the friction becoming both more and less of what she needed, and slowly the tenor changed.  Their kisses shifted from curious and delicate to needy and rough and suddenly Clarke was nearly tearing his shirt trying to get it unbuttoned.  _

_ Bellamy only managed to get her shirt undone to just below her breasts and mouthed at her nipple through her bra, his teeth scraping the lace until she moaned.  She stood to shimmy out of her pants and Bellamy shoved his down to his knees.  Part of Clarke wanted to find out if he was as talented with his tongue as his kissing suggested, but fucking in her office didn’t really lend itself to extended foreplay.  Her staff was gone, but it probably was better not to draw this out just in case. _

_ Clarke pressed her forehead to Bellamy’s when she lowered herself down on him, and he gripped her hips as she started to move.  Bellamy groaned and she silenced him with a kiss, one hand holding his face close while the other moved down to touch her clit.  Bellamy dragged his mouth to her jaw, kissing down the column of her throat, and batted her hand away to replace it with his fingers, rubbing tight, quick circles until her thighs started to tremble and she let go, muffling her cries by biting at his shoulder.  That sent him over the edge too, and then there was no going back. _

* * *

 

She managed to avoid Bellamy for the rest of the fundraiser and push him out of her mind until the room started to empty, donors and politicians alike pouring themselves into cabs to go home and crow that they had somehow made a difference.  She had just escaped a boring conversation with a billionaire who seemed to think owning a bunch of companies made him qualified to tell her how to do her job when a warm hand landed on her shoulder.  “Room 817,” Bellamy whispered, his breath tickling her ear.  He pressed a plastic keycard into her palm and trailed his knuckle down the nape of her neck, bumping over her spine to just between her shoulderblades.  

She shivered and slipped the card into her purse without looking at him.  “Go now.  I’ll come up in ten,” she ordered out of the side of her mouth, and what followed was an incredibly challenging ten minutes.  She fidgeted non stop, utterly failing to make small talk that normally came as naturally to her as breathing.  After eight minutes she decided she’d waited long enough and excused herself from the latest conversation she found herself in, pretending to go towards the restrooms and veering off towards the hall to the elevator at the last second.

Clarke wrapped her arms around her middle and the elevator rose with a quiet hum.  She wondered what the fundraiser would have been like if things were different— what it would have been like to have Bellamy at her side, not studiously avoiding her.  She wondered what it would be like to stand next to him in public, embracing whatever it was that they were to each other and working as a team instead of bickering in public and sharing quiet moments in private.  The elevator reached the eighth floor and for a second Clarke considered fleeing.  Whatever lay in front of her with Bellamy seemed too much, but the thought of not seeing him one last time seemed worse.  She stepped out into the hall, grateful that the floor was empty, and started to walk.  Her heels sank into the plush carpet, and the gold and cream walls seemed to swallow every sound.

The lock on 817 flashed green and Clarke let herself in.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know.
> 
> I'll wrap it up in chapter three, I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

Bellamy stood up when she walked in and set his phone on the nightstand.  His jacket was draped over the chair in the corner and he’d undone his tie, his hair already a little mussed.  She wished he didn’t look so good like this, but then again he’d looked just as good downstairs, polished and poised, as he did here, rumpled and shy.  Clarke shut the door behind her.

“Hey,” she said.  

He looked down, running a hand through his hair.  “Uh, hey.  I thought we could— I thought we could talk.”

She dropped her purse on the dresser and walked towards the window.  The Capitol was lit up, with the Washington Monument spearing the darkness behind it.  She faced that, rather than him.  It was easier, somehow.  “You spent $400 on a room so we could talk?” she said with a wryness she didn’t quite feel.

“Well, not just talk,” he said, chuckling.  “But—”

“You’d tell me if there was someone else, right?” she interrupted.

“What?”

“If there was someone else.  You’d— you’d tell me, right?”  

They hadn’t discussed it, not specifically.  The first time they didn’t use a condom was a mistake, mostly thanks to a few too many glasses of champagne at a fundraiser much like this one.  Clarke had cornered him in a bathroom and he was already pushing inside of her when he froze, terror blooming on his face.   _ I have an IUD _ , she told him.   _ And I trust you.  Just fuck me, please. _  A few days later he’d walked into her office, yelling about labor unions, and dropped a stack of papers on her desk.  On top was a printout from his doctor, stating that his STD panel had come back clear.  Clarke read it, nodded, and calmly began countering his point about the best methods for protecting unions.  Two days later she did the same— this time picking a fight about budget appropriations— and the next time she was with him (a few days after that, sitting on his desk with her panties dangling from her foot) she stopped him when he reached for a condom and that was that.  They hadn’t used one since, and Clarke had never doubted him until this very second.

Bellamy approached her but she didn’t look back, her eyes trained on the skyline.  “Of course I would.  There isn’t anyone else.  Not for me.  What about you?” he asked, sounding almost...scared.

“Who would I be seeing?”

“Roan?”

Finally, she looked at him.  “Roan?  Really?”

Bellamy shrugged sheepishly.  “He hits on you a lot.”

“Roan hits on  _ everyone _ ,” she laughed.  “And besides, he’s dating my friend Raven.  Has been for years.”

“Oh,” he said, and smiled. “Who did you think I was…?”

“Echo.” It was getting easier to look at him, her envy melting away.  

His eyebrows shot up.  “You think I would date someone who thinks oil companies need  _ less _ regulation?”

Clarke shrugged.  “You hated me at first.  Stranger things have happened.”

“I didn’t hate you,” he protested, and Clarke laughed.  “Okay, I didn’t hate you that much,” he amended.  “But I promise, I’m not— I wouldn’t. Not— not when there’s you.”  A blush rose up her neck, and Bellamy reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.  

“You wanted to talk?” she prompted, looking down.

“I— yeah, I did.  I was wondering if you’d be interested in...being more public.”  Clarke looked up, and Bellamy ran his hand through his hair again.  “I was just— I was thinking about it tonight.  These things suck, but they would suck less to have someone to go to them with, you know?”

“Technically you went to this one with me tonight,” she teased.  She reached out and took his hand, turning him to face her.

His eyes dropped to their hands.  “Yeah, but I meant like— together.”  

Clarke didn't respond, just tipped her chin up.  In her heels she was almost the same height as him, and she draped her arms around his shoulders, linking her hands behind his neck.  She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and smiled.

“You know, I’ve never actually seen you completely naked,” he said, his voice dropping a few octaves.

“I think you’re right,” she flirted.  “We’ve also never managed to have sex in a bed.”

Bellamy’s next words were swallowed by her kiss, and Clarke started to slip his buttons through the holes, slowly revealing a slice of warm, tawny skin.  She kissed him just above his heart and peeled his shirt from his shoulders, stepping out of her heels as she walked backwards towards the bed.  She spun around so he was the one against the bed and slipped his belt out.  He stepped out of his pants and reached for her zipper, but Clarke shook her head.  She moved just out of reach from him and unzipped it herself, letting it pool at her feet.  She unhooked her bra next and dropped it to the floor near her dress.

Only then did she let him touch her, his hand trailing up her thigh to rest at her waist as she crawled over him.  Bellamy shifted so they were entirely on the bed and kissed her, long and deep.  It was nice to know they didn’t have to rush, didn’t have to worry about a staffer coming back to the office unexpectedly.

Bellamy seemed to read her mind.  “You know, you don’t have to be quiet here,” he breathed against her ear.  He rolled them over and settled into the cradle of her hips, kissing down her neck.  His fingers curled into the waistband of her panties and he dragged them down her legs, the damp spot brushing against her calf.  Bellamy’s fingers found her clit and she gasped, making him smirk.  He kissed her sternum and then her belly button, soft and delicate, and then swirled his tongue around her nipple.  He only stopped when it was hard, the skin tightening and aching with each sweep of his tongue  He moved down her body slowly, teasing the hollow of her hip with his tongue until she tangled her hands in his hair and tugged.  Bellamy looked up and grinned at her, nipping at the flare of her hip and then kissing it, hot and wet.

Clarke tugged his hair again and he relented, sucking her clit between his lips.  Clarke keened and clawed at the sheets with her free hand, needing to ground herself but unable to find purchase.  His tongue was flickering against her clit now and her back was threatening to bow off the bed.  She moaned again and hoped that the walls were thick enough to silence her cries.

Or maybe she didn’t care at all, since her moans kept getting louder and louder, wetness dripping from her, and then Bellamy lapped at her entrance and she lost her voice entirely.  The world narrowed to his head between her thighs and his tongue tracing complicated patterns across her folds, his hair soft in her palms and his arm pinning her writhing body down.  She could feel the need building inside of her, blotting out everything that wasn’t Bellamy and the way he was making her feel.

She trembled as she came, wave after wave of pleasure threatening to drown her and suck the air from her lungs.  Bellamy kissed her stomach and smiled triumphantly, and if she had more control of her faculties she probably would have rolled her eyes at him.  Instead she just drew him up so she could kiss him, licking the taste of her off his lips until all that was left was  _ them _ , her and him together, tangy and sweet and dark.

She reached down and wrapped her hand around the base of his cock.  Bellamy groaned in her ear and Clarke wasted no time in guiding him to her center.  Bellamy braced his arms next to her head and pushed in, inch by inch.  She rolled her hips up to meet him and then he was pulling out, still with that same slow pace.  He let her feel him, his cock stretching her walls and moving in and out, each thrust going just a bit deeper.  Clarke buried her face in his neck and then arched her neck up to kiss him, needing to be surrounded by him in every way.  He slid his tongue against hers, his kisses just as slow as his thrusts.  Bellamy’s weight pressed her into the mattress and Clarke’s nails dug into his back, keeping him from moving too far away.

Because right now, any distance between them was too far.  She would whimper when he pulled back until just the head of his cock was in her, sighing with relief when he’d press back inside.  It was too much and not enough at the same time, and when she slipped her hand down to circle her clit it only took a few strokes before she was coming again, her walls clenching down on him with a delicious pressure.

Bellamy kissed her when he came, his lips gentle as he let himself go inside of her.  For a few heartbeats they stayed motionless, clinging to each other, and then Bellamy dropped his head to kiss her clavicle.  He pulled out and immediately wrapped his arms around her, shifting them until her head was pillowed on his shoulder and his lips were pressed against the crown of her head.

Clarke listened to his heart pounding while his come slowly dripped down her thighs.  She kissed his chest and let her eyes close.  Gravity pulled against her and her muscles continued to melt, every fiber, nerve and sinew in her body relaxed and soft.

She never wanted to leave.

She had drifted off twice before she pulled herself up.  She hadn’t brought a change of clothes and the Hill was worse than a high school in terms of gossip. Someone was bound to see her leaving the hotel in her dress from the night before, and that meant going public in an irrevocable way.  She wasn’t against it, not necessarily, but tonight already seemed big enough.  Bellamy said he wanted to go public, but going public and “leaving a hotel together the morning after a fundraiser” were two entirely different animals.  

“Where are you going?” Bellamy asked sleepily.  His hand trailed down her back, feather light.  It was like he couldn’t stop touching her, like he needed to feel her skin at every moment.  She didn’t blame him, because she felt the same way.

Clarke leaned down on her elbow and let her hair swoop down to the side.  “I should get going,” she murmured, even though her finger was tracing his cheekbone of its own accord.  He was beautiful, and when he looked at her like that she felt beautiful too.  

“Or you could stay,” he countered, tugging her wrist playfully.

Clarke laughed and let him pull her on top of him, deliberating.  If she stayed, people would know.  If she stayed, she and Bellamy would be official.  

Public. 

Together.  

There would be no going back, and no more sneaking around.  

Bellamy slid his fingers into her hair to kiss her again and Clarke melted into it, unable to resist.

She stayed.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kids, do not have sex without a condom just because you trust the other person. It's a terrible fucking idea, and it happened here because Bellamy and Clarke are fictional and thus I as an author can choose for there not to be any consequences for that decision. But that's not how the real world works so please do not be like these two fictional idiots and use condoms, okay? Okay.


	4. Outtake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested more of the congressional au, so I decided to flash back to the aftermath of the first time they had sex.

The Congressional Offices were nearly empty as Clarke stepped off the elevator.  Not many representatives showed up to work on Sunday mornings, preferring to either commute back to their district or go to church as a public sign of piety.  Clarke hadn’t intended to come to her office today, but she was too distracted to get anything done at her apartment and figured a change of scenery might help her concentrate.

But as she walked down the hallway, she noticed a door was ajar and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the change of scenery would do nothing to alleviate the reason for her distraction.  For the past four days Clarke’s brain kept returning to that moment in her office like a movie with only one reel, unable to shake the memory of his fingers on her skin.

She couldn’t believe it happened and what’s worse, she couldn’t stop reliving it.  It was a stupid, impulsive decision and it would never happen again, because Bellamy hated her and she hated him and having sex with him was one of the worst ideas she had ever had.

Except for the fact that it was maybe the best sex she’d ever had.  

But aside from that, it really was a terrible idea and one that could never be repeated, no matter how potent the memory.  She paused outside his door, listening for signs of life.  “Hey, Miller, come in here for a second,” that unmistakeable voice called, so Clarke scurried past the door as quickly as she could.

Her flats slapped against the floor and the air conditioning swirled around her bare legs, playing with the hem of her black shirtdress.  She unlocked the door to her outer office and flipped on the lights before letting herself into her private office.  Clarke dropped her purse to the floor and huffed out a sigh that sent the wisps of hair falling from her messy bun fluttering.   _ You’re here to work.  So work,  _ she told herself sternly, and picked up a draft of a bill from her desk.

But it was no use.  Her brain refused to read the words on the page and instead insisted on replaying every single second of her encounter with Bellamy.  She tried to read a paragraph of the draft for the sixth time and then gave up, because she just couldn’t shake the memory of his lips on her throat and his hand in her hair.

She needed to exorcise that memory if she was ever going to be able to work in her office— or anywhere else— ever again, so Clarke dropped the heavy draft onto her desk and stood up.  With Miller in Bellamy’s front office they would have to keep it professional, she reasoned.  She could explain to him that it was a mistake, never to be repeated, and that would be that.  

Clarke breezed into the office and scanned for Miller, drawing up short when she saw that the chief of staff’s desk was empty.  She considered leaving but just then Bellamy opened his door, looking unfairly handsome in his glasses, jeans, and dark blue henley.  “I thought I told you to go home,” Bellamy started, and then he froze like a startled deer.  “Oh, uh, sorry. I thought you were Miller,” he said, his eyes darting to her bare legs.

“Nope, just me,” she said, and they stared awkwardly at each other.  “I realized— um, I realized we never finished our meeting this week.  Would you have some time to talk about it now?”  It was as good a cover story as any, because without Miller in the outer office to keep her baser instincts in check she wasn’t sure she could control herself.  She’d keep it professional and short, and save the  _ let’s forget this _ talk for some other time.

“Uh, yeah...I’ve got some time now.  Not really working on anything pressing,” he said and stepped aside to let her into his office.  This was probably the most they’d said to each other without arguing, ever, but between bickering and this painful, stilted conversation, she’d take anger any day.  

Bellamy shut the door behind him and moved towards his desk.  “Actually, about— about the other day,” Clarke blurted out, because her brain had a one track mind these days.  Bellamy stopped just a few paces from her.  “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake,” he echoed, and that gave her the courage to muster on.

“Yeah.  A mistake.  A one time— whatever.  Whatever you want to call it,” she stuttered, but even as she said it she found herself drifting towards him.

Bellamy was moving towards her too.  It was like they were being drawn together by a magnet, slow and inexorable.  “A one time thing,” he said, sounding dazed.  His eyes dropped to her mouth and then somehow they were standing in front of each other, just millimeters apart.

“Right,” she said, her voice gone hoarse.  “We shouldn’t do that again.”

“We shouldn’t,” Bellamy agreed, and then they crashed together, their lips meeting frantically.  Clarke wasn’t sure who moved first, she just knew that she didn’t want it to stop.  His lips felt exactly how she remembered, and his hands cupped her face almost delicately.  She sank her teeth into his lower lip and pulled back when he groaned.  Clarke tugged up the hem of his shirt, his skin hot to the touch as her hands roamed his back, and then arched her neck so she could kiss down his jaw.

She could feel his moan rumble deep in his chest and Bellamy raised the bottom of her dress to slip his hand inside her panties.  Clarke’s knees threatened to buckle when he pressed down on her clit but his other arm was around her back, holding her up.  She pulled his face down to kiss her again and his finger eased inside of her, but it wasn’t enough— nothing would ever be enough unless he was inside of her, filling her completely.  “Do you— do you have—” she gasped, her mind hazy with need.

Bellamy broke away from her and nodded, and when his fingers left her she whimpered.  He pulled out his wallet and plucked a condom from it, laying it on his desk.  Clarke hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and let them slide down her calves before spinning around and planting her hands on his desk.

Bellamy made a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, and Clarke smirked at him over her shoulder while he unbuckled his pants and rolled on the condom.  But she stopped grinning after he playfully swatted her ass and pushed inside of her.  Clarke dropped her forehead to the desk and he started thrusting, his hand curling around the nape of her neck.  She braced against his rhythm and Bellamy leaned over her, pressing a sloppy kiss to the corner of her mouth.  She craned her neck so their lips met, messy and needy.  Files and drafts of bills started falling and her thighs were hitting the hard edge of the desk but she didn’t care, because he was inside of her, hitting a spot that made her want to keen.

Bellamy slid his hand between her thighs and found her clit again, and Clarke had to break away from his kiss to muffle her moans with her arm.  Heat surged through her veins and her muscles started to quiver, Bellamy’s breath hot in her ear, and then she was tumbling over the edge.  Bellamy swore, holding still while her orgasm rocked through her, and then started again, rough and deep until he was coming, whispering something that sounded suspiciously like her name.

Just like the first time, panic seized her.   _ Did I really just fuck him again?  Am I really unable to control myself?   _ Bellamy pulled out and threw away the condom, but before she could slip out of his office he grabbed her arm.  “Hey,” he started, but then he seemed at a loss for words.

The first time in her office Clarke could barely bring herself to look at him when he straightened his clothes out and left, but this time she couldn’t stop looking at him.   _ Let’s just pretend this never happened  _ was on the tip of her tongue, but his eyes were soft and maybe she was still fuzzy from the orgasm but she just couldn’t bring herself to say it.  She gave him a half smile instead.  “I’ll see you around, okay?” she said, and then left before she could do anything monumentally stupid, like kiss him goodbye.

  
  
  



End file.
